


Crema Verse Prompt Fill #8

by twobirdsonesong



Series: Crema Verse [9]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Barista Blaine, Crema verse, Drabble, Established Relationship, M/M, Prompt Fill, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsonesong/pseuds/twobirdsonesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>unicornssaywoosh asked: Kurt has had so many of Blaine’s coffees that he can reliably tell his mood from them. So one morning when Blaine hands him a cup and Kurt takes a sniff he knows there is something up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crema Verse Prompt Fill #8

Blaine is a walking, breathing encyclopedia of coffee and espresso.  He can suggest which roast will pair the best with a specific dessert or snack, he knows how fine to grind the beans for the best brew, and he has an uncanny knack for somehow just knowing what Kurt has a taste for at any particular moment.  Kurt doesn’t even bother to order at Blaine’s Starbucks anymore; he just lets his fiancé make him something to drink and pays for whatever comes up on the counter.  
  
And in turn, Kurt has quickly figured out how to gauge Blaine’s mood by the drinks he creates.  
  
When the city is stuck fast in the deep cold of winter and the day never breaks free of the low, grey skies, Blaine brings them two big mugs of homemade hot chocolate and they snuggle under thick blankets to watch old movies and shitty reality TV shows.  Blaine never just rips open a packet of instant cocoa mix and stirs in hot water and calls it good.  He melts down rich, dark cocoa in a saucepan with nonfat milk and a little bit of vanilla and brings it all to a slow simmer on the stovetop, stirring it constantly to make sure it doesn’t scald.  Sometimes he adds a bit of fresh mint, or a dash of cinnamon, depending on what he thinks Kurt is in the mood for.  Blaine’s toes are always cold under Kurt’s thighs, and Kurt likes to warm his fingers against Blaine’s hip.  
  
And when the afternoon is burning hot and the air-conditioning unit doesn’t quite do enough to ease the thick, heavy humidity that permeates everything, Blaine makes them iced tea with his grandmother’s old, beaten copper kettle.  He brews the tea double-strength (so that the ice doesn’t dilute the flavor) and lets it chill in the fridge before pouring it into two tall glasses.  He slices fresh lemons and together they sit out on the front stoop, because even though it might be cooler inside their home, they don’t want to waste the chance to enjoy the air and sunlight and the way the hint of breeze rustles the leaves along their tree-lined street.  
  
And when they come home from a date, sometimes holding hands and casting long, loving glances at each other, sometimes stumbling through the door on slightly unsteady feet and giggling from a few drinks, Blaine likes to make them affogatos.  He gets the gelato –  _cioccolato fondente_  for Kurt,  _nocciola_  for himself – out of the freezer and pours a freshly pulled shot of espresso over each sweet scoop.  Kurt loves the way the hot espresso melts the gelato, and maybe he also loves the way Blaine’s throat works when he lifts the little bowl to his lips and swallows down the last of the coffee and cream.  
  
Sometimes Blaine likes to delight him with beautiful and intricate designs in his lattes or the cappuccinos he’s finally learning to appreciate.  He still loves his mochas, but he’s coming to appreciate the nuances of espresso.  Kurt’s chest and belly fills with warmth and contentment whenever he remembers the dreary, rainy Saturday afternoon he spent in the kitchen as Blaine’s latte art pupil.  
  
It turned out there are, in fact, a few things that Kurt Hummel is not naturally adept at.  He is good with his hands, he has to be, but it takes a special skill and knowledge of the medium to be able to create something that isn’t just a white blob in the near-middle of the cup.  
  
Blaine - sweet, patient Blaine who could probably excel as a grade school teacher - walked him through the process of pulling the perfect shot and properly steaming the milk for optimal foam art creation.  They went through half a gallon of milk and dumped out more watery shots than Kurt cared to think about.  
  
“Keep the head of the wand just under the surface of the milk, and make sure you don’t get any big bubbles or froth,” Blaine had said, and his breath had ghosted hot and unfairly erotic across Kurt’s ear and neck.  They were standing at the kitchen counter with Blaine pressed up close and familiar to Kurt’s back, arms around him as he guided Kurt’s tentative, halting movements.  “You want the texture of the foam to be as smooth and velvety as possible.”  
  
“Hmm, smooth and velvety.  I’m familiar with other… _things_  with similar textures.”  Kurt let just a little bit of a purr creep into his voice and he grinned when he saw Blaine’s eyelashes flutter and his lips part in an almost-smile.  
  
“Watch the temperature - when it gets to about 80 degrees, you want to move the wand to the side of the pitch and get it down deep in the milk, almost to the bottom.”  
  
“Dirty,” Kurt whispered, as Blaine’s practiced hands guided the steam wand down while keeping the pitcher steady, and a blush had stained Blaine’s cheeks a pretty pink.  Kurt loved any chance to get Blaine all flustered and blushing like a sheltered prep-school boy.  
  
“Do you want to try a leaf or a heart?”  
  
“A heart,” Kurt twisted his head and pressed a kiss to Blaine’s cheek, and he felt the rough scratch his stubble and the subtle movement under his lips as Blaine smiled.  
  
“Ok, so, start pouring the milk.  Go slow, but not too slow.”  Kurt was technically the one holding the pitcher, but Blaine’s broad hands were resting over his and doing most of the work.  “Good, now, gently shake the pitcher back and forth, like this-” Kurt just let Blaine guide the movement.  Blaine’s strong arms were wrapped around him; his chest flush to Kurt’s back, and Kurt closed his eyes briefly and inhaled the heady, tantalizing scent of espresso and  _Blaine_.  
  
“Use your wrist, not just your hand,” Blaine had murmured, low and private in his ear.  
  
“Just what are you teaching me how to do, Mr. Anderson?”  
  
“I don’t think you need instruction in that area at all,” Blaine had replied, and Kurt laughed in delight.  Getting Blaine to flirt back with him had always been one of his favorite accomplishments.  
  
But that morning – a morning that dawned with watery sunlight struggling to break through the thin clouds – something is off.  Something is wrong.  The scent of the brewing coffee drifting through the townhouse isn’t quite right - it’s tinged with something dark and something bitter that bites at Kurt’s nostrils.  He hasn’t smelled a less appetizing cup of coffee since he was poured the dregs of lukewarm drip at a roadside diner in Pennsylvania during a road trip with his father to Washington, DC one spring break.  
  
Blaine is padding around the kitchen, dressed in sweats that are too long for him and the  _Hummel Tires and Lube_  t-shirt that’s got a hole in the collar, but he refuses to get rid of it even though Burt keeps offering him new shirts.  Kurt slides onto a barstool at the counter and frowns at the tight line of Blaine’s shoulders and the fine tremble in his hands.  The cup that Blaine hands him is filled with a murky brown liquid, and Kurt takes only a sip before he sets the cup down.  It tastes burnt and watery and there isn’t even milk in it at all.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Kurt asks, because it’s obvious that something is.  Blaine’s face is drawn and his eyes are dull and the coffee sitting untouched in their mugs is a mockery of Blaine’s skills.  
  
Blaine opens his mouth to say something, but then shuts it.  He folds his arms across his chest, self-protective in a way he hasn’t been in a while, and there is a furrow between his eyebrows that Kurt aches to smooth away with his thumb.  
  
“I,” Blaine stops before he’s hardly said anything at all and bites down on his lower lip.  His shoulders are hunched in tight and Kurt just wants to get up and pull him into his arms.  “My…my mother called.”  
  
“What?”  Kurt hears him, but he doesn’t understand.  
  
“She called.  This morning before you woke up.  I only answered it because I didn’t recognize the number.  It was - I thought it might be Cooper calling from a hotel or something.  I - wouldn’t have answered if I’d known it was her.”  
  
“What did she want?”  Kurt hates to even think it about a mother, but he can only imagine what she might want from her younger son.  Blaine’s career is growing in leaps and bounds, and while he’s not yet famous, and certainly not wealthy, he’s becoming renowned for his talent.  
  
“She wants to see me.  Kurt, I-” Blaine swallows and the sound is too loud in the quiet kitchen.  “Kurt, I didn’t even recognize her voice.”  
  
Kurt slides off the stool and crosses the kitchen to pull Blaine into his arms.  Blaine is stiff against him for a long moment, shoulder tense and every muscle in his back locked up tight, before he eases into Kurt’s embrace.  His arms loop around Kurt’s waist and his cheek rests on Kurt’s shoulder.  
  
“What are you going to do?” Kurt asks, and he sweeps his palms up and down Blaine’s broad back with long strokes.  
  
“I just - fuck, Kurt.  I don’t know.”  
  
Kurt can’t imagine what Blaine is feeling right now.  Hurt, of course, and confusion, naturally.  He hasn’t seen or heard from his mother for more than a decade.  Kurt wants to drive across the country, knock on this woman’s door, and demand to know just what she’s playing at.  
  
“What would you do?”  Blaine asks, and his voice is so small and dispirited that it makes Kurt’s heart constrict painfully and he tightens his arms around Blaine even more.  He always as physical comfort to offer.  Kurt forgets, sometimes, just how Blaine has grown into his skin over the last three years.  The quiet, but increasingly confident man he is engaged to is light years away from the shy, nervous guy he bought a cup of coffee from on his first day at his new job – the job, and the day, that changed  _everything_.  
  
“I would give anything to see my mom again, but-”  
  
 _But my mother didn’t want to leave - yours did_ , he thinks, but cannot put into words.  He doesn’t want to hurt Blaine even more, even if it’s the truth.  
  
“I don’t want to see her.”  Blaine says, and he takes a deep, slow breath.  “I don’t know how she got my number, but-” Blaine turns his head and presses his face into the curve of Kurt’s throat.  “I have nothing to say to her.”  
  
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”  Kurt draws back just enough to press a sweet, lingering kiss to Blaine’s mouth.  “But if you ever change your mind, ever, I’ll be right there for you.”  He cups Blaine’s face in his hands and brushes his thumbs against his cheekbones.  
  
“I know you will.”  Blaine smiles. It’s a little tremulous and doesn’t quite erase the hurt still lingering in the corners of his eyes and edges of his mouth.  He leans up for another kiss.  “Let me make you a better cup of coffee.”  
  
“You don’t have to.  Let’s go out for breakfast.”  Kurt thinks that a couple of crêpes and the morning crossword puzzle will get this day back onto the right foot.  
  
“It was really that bad, huh.”  Blaine wrinkles his nose at the thought of that disastrous coffee.  “They might take away my  _Coffee Master_  apron if they ever found out about it.”  
  
“It’ll be our little secret then.”  Kurt steals another kiss and this time Blaine’s smile is almost back to normal.


End file.
